by Toni Leland
Her words echoed through the silence on the other end of the phone, and she prayed that Pete's sympathy wouldn't unravel her. Finally, he spoke and the message was there.
“Yes, I know-I'll be up there for the weekend. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you.”
She sat quietly for a few moments after he hung up. How long would it take for the intense pain to fade? She pushed idly through a stack of mail, pulling out two small white envelopes hand addressed to “Kellie Sutton and Family.” She slid her finger under the flap and removed a card with a drawing of a horse head on the front. Her throat ached as she read. “My heart goes out to you in your loss. Your pain is felt by all horse owners, and I only wish I could do something to help you. My prayers are with you and your family.” Tears blurred the signature of someone she didn't know in California.
She picked up the other envelope and struggled through another statement of sympathy from Iowa. “Of all the things I have experienced in twenty years with Quarter Horses, nothing saddens me like this whole nightmare. Please know that there are a lot of us out here you may not know, but we care very deeply. My heart goes out to the whole Sutton family.”
Others had felt her personal pain, and the thought was somehow comforting. With such support, she'd get through this, but she'd never know peace until Dancer's killer was brought to justice.
At noon, a tour bus rumbled away from the barn and Kellie released a long sigh of relief. Twenty-nine fifth graders-more exuberant energy than she'd been up to, but they'd seemed to enjoy meeting the foals. She flipped the light switch in the office, instantly irritated by the sight of Frank's deserted desk. So far, he'd done a disappearing act for both ranch tours. Her annoyance faded. Maybe he's as tired of this charade as I am.
She moved toward her own desk, then focused on an object lying there. She sank into the chair and picked up a stick decorated with beads and feathers. One end of the wood had been carved into a horse's head, complete with fine leather halter and beads for eyes. She touched the fine, dark red horsehair knotted at the poll to form a forelock. More strands ran the length of the neck and another long hank made up the tail. Pressure grew in her chest. The wood had been painted and burnished to a deep copper. She pressed the effigy of Dancer against her chest and struggled again with her loss, absorbing yet another offer of sympathy.
Chapter 12
Kellie glanced in the rearview mirror to check on the trailer, then looked over at Sara. “Ready to bring home the trophy?”
“Of course! Sonny Black will be the only other good rider there, and he's been grounded a week for skipping school.”
“Meaning?”
“He isn't allowed to ride when he's in trouble, so he'll be out of practice.”
Sara's smug expression didn't sit well with Kellie. “Don't gloat over someone else's misfortune, my dear. Bad chickens always come home to roost.”
“Where do they go before they come home?”
“It's just an expression meaning-”
“I know what it means, Mother. I'm not stupid.”
Sara's pre-show jitters were obviously getting the best of her. Kellie changed the subject.
“What do you want for your birthday?”
“A roping saddle.”
Kellie threw her a sharp look. “You are not going to rodeo. Period.”
“Why? Because I'm a girl? You did it!”
“I know, and Grandpa nearly went crazy every time I competed.” Not to mention my boyfriend. “It's too dangerous, honey. I want you to grow up with all your parts intact.”
Sara's jaw jutted out in defiance. “You are so mean. When I'm older, I can do anything I want.”
Kellie pushed away the painful jab and concentrated on the road ahead. God help me when she enters puberty.
Two hours later, Kellie dropped onto a bench in the fourth row of the bleachers and watched the ground crew set up for the next event. Melancholy swept over her. Sara was growing up, seeming to need less and less of her mother's support, gravitating more toward her circle of friends at school and in the horse club. Getting ready for a horse show had always been an enjoyable mother-daughter event, but today Sara had made it clear that she wanted to hang out with her friends and prepare Juicy all by herself. Quelling her disappointment, Kellie scanned the audience, hoping for a familiar face.
~ ~
Travis scuffed through the dusty parking area behind the 4-H building, pulling a last drag on his cigarette before he entered. He'd spent the afternoon in a tavern on the east side, and the heavy warm air was making him sleepy. Nature pressed him to find the men's room and, as he entered, he glanced at a young boy standing at the urinal. The kid's gaze dropped immediately to the bandage, and Travis stepped into one of the stalls and latched the door behind him. A second later, he heard the urinal flush and the restroom door bump closed. His bandaged hand was attracting too much attention. He gingerly unwound the gauze and dropped it into the toilet, grimacing at the nasty looking colors and textures covering most of the back of his hand. The center of the wound had tunneled into the flesh, spreading to the size of a dime.
He glowered at the soggy gauze floating in the toilet. Shit, maybe that wasn't such a hot idea. He savagely kicked the flush handle. Not a helluva lot he could do about it now.
Minutes later, he sat down on a hard metal bench and scanned the grandstand. She'd be there-he'd already checked the show office. As he finished the thought, she climbed up to a good vantage point in the bleachers. Even from a distance, he could see the strain on her face.
~ ~
A tall man in a brown county uniform stepped through one entrance, and a jerk of excitement raced through Kellie's chest. Everywhere she went now, she anticipated seeing Ed. The officer removed his hat, and disappointment drained away the brief rush. She looked over the spectators in the next section, seeing some familiar faces, but mostly tourists. At the top of that section, a man sat with his elbows on his knees, staring intently at the arena. She focused on the unfriendly features and dark eyes staring from beneath a battered straw hat. He looked out of place in this country setting.
The public address system boomed the opening of the pole bending class, and she sat back to watch. The first three competitors did poorly. One of them knocked over two poles, and the other two riders either had slow horses or were too cautious. Outside the gate, Sara walked Juicy in circles to keep him supple. Another rider entered the ring, and Kellie watched with little interest.
“Hey Sis!”
Frick and Frack. Kellie jumped up from her seat. “You were going to call, remember?”
Cliff wrapped his arms around her and squeezed hard. “I forgot.” He stepped away, and Kellie smiled at her other brother.
“Clarke, what a wonderful surprise!”
Her discerning eye didn't miss the pallor and thin body. She hugged him hard, feeling the edges of his bones through the soft chambray shirt.
His voice was strong and deep. “Haven't been to a celebration in years, so when Cliff said he was coming up, I hitched a ride.” He stepped back. “Where's Sara?”
Kellie pointed to the in-gate where Sara waited for the signal to enter the ring.
“Wow, she's really grown!”
Kellie grimaced. “You don't know the half of it.”
The starter bell clanged and Sara shot through the gate, light in the saddle, letting Juicy do the work. They wove in and out between the poles, clearing each one by only inches. At the end of the course, Juicy wheeled on his hind legs and raced toward the out-gate, Sara leaning forward until she was almost flat. The audience shouted approval, and the announcer gave the results. Sara's time was the best by a full 7 seconds.
“Damn, she's really good! Looks like you might get your crown taken away.”
Kellie glowered good-naturedly at Cliff. “No chance. She'd have to beat me in everything else, and that won't happen 'cause I'm not letting her do anything but poles and barrels.”
Cliff shook his head
. “I seem to remember you having the same argument with Dad, and look how that ended up.” His expression sobered. “What's going on at the ranch? We saw something on the national news last week about attacks on the horses.”
Kellie steeled herself, then began to describe the horror of the past week.
Clark whistled. “Holy crap. I'm sure sorry. What are you going to do?”
“We've installed security cameras and offered a reward. Other than that, we just have to wait while the sheriff's department investigates.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued, then Cliff cleared his throat. “Listen, we need to talk about some things.”
~ ~
Travis straightened on the bench and watched the two men approach Kellie. Damn! I couldn't have done this better if I'd planned it! He waited until the three of them sat down, then moved down the bleachers to a seat four rows behind them.
A fat woman in a bright red shirt and stained cowboy hat grinned. “Great show, huh?”
Travis gritted his teeth, suppressing a snarl. “Yep.”
She leaned over, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Those are the Suttons down there in front of us. They're real important here...founding fathers and all. Got good horses, too.”
He nodded. “So I hear.”
“Yeah, and someone-”
Travis stood up and moved down two rows, then stared at a distant point across the arena, listening carefully to the conversation about Kellie's rodeo days.
A small girl on a brilliant pinto flashed into the arena and raced skillfully through the poles. Travis followed her progress and grinned. So that's the brat, huh? She's pretty good, a real Sutton. When the applause died down, he tuned in again to the conversation taking place below him.
“Cliff, I can't believe you're bringing this up! I am not-repeat-not going to sell! What part of this don't you understand?”
“Kellie, we all stand to make a lot of money on the deal. This area is exploding and absorbing the overflow from Oklahoma City. Edmond is saturated, and this is the obvious direction of the expansion.”
“I don't care about the money. I want to die right here on the land where I grew up.”
“You may not care about the money, but the rest of us do. Hell, I could-”
“Cliff, you're forgetting one thing. Part of the estate belongs to Jethrow. Without his agreement, we couldn't sell it anyway.”
Cliff snorted. “Like we even know if he's still alive. That argument won't work. With the amount of time that's passed, we could have him declared legally dead.”
Kellie jumped up from her seat. “This conversation is over. I need to go help Sara load her horse onto the trailer.”
The two men rose and followed her to the aisle. “We can talk about this again tomorrow at the ranch.”
Kellie walked away, and the men looked at each other knowingly.
Travis sat back on the bench, consumed by an awesome idea.
~ ~
“Sheriff Campbell here.” Ed cradled the phone against his shoulder, listening to the lieutenant in Oklahoma City.
“Did you have a chance to look at Frank Frazier's polygraph?”
Ed frowned and slipped a sheaf of reports into a folder. “Yeah, he seems to have passed with flying colors.”
“Only insofar as the questions relating directly to the crime at the horse ranch. If you look at the report, you'll see very erratic reactions to a couple of questions. His readings were all over the map when I asked him if he'd ever been involved in anything illegal, but when asked directly about attacking the horses, he was unruffled. He's lying about something, but I don't think it pertains to this particular crime.”
“Thanks a lot, Lieutenant. Ms. Sutton will be relieved to hear that. What about Cliff and Clarke Sutton?”
“No answer. I left a message for them to call.”
Ed hung up and stared thoughtfully into space. Frankie Boy was beginning to look like somebody's pawn. Noise in the hall broke the chain of thought, and Ed glanced at his watch. Change of shift. He rose and closed the door, then pulled out the small white phone.
“Chief? I'm starting to connect the dots here. I'm certain the Columbians have recruited one of the locals, and he just happens to be a principal in the horse vandalism crime. Can you get me a profile on Franklin Frazier?”
“You'll have it within the hour. Latest update is that Jesus Hermano is the go-between for the racetrack drug cartel and some land developers. We're thinking money laundering.”
Ed thought for a moment. “Makes sense. This area has exploded with condos and fancy homes.” He snorted. “If you've never been to Guthrie, you wouldn't know what I mean. This town has aggressively preserved its heritage from the Land Rush days, and I suspect all this shiny new construction is driving the locals crazy. Every week, another old farm is plowed under.”
“I'll get the info on Frazier. Any chance he's part of the land scheme?”
“Don't know, but I intend to find out.”
Ed gazed at the fading screen and thought about his sudden involvement in Kellie's life. It certainly wasn't how he'd envisioned the reconnection. He shook his head. Too much going on to spend much time pondering. He picked up the desk phone and dialed.
An old man's voice answered on the fourth ring. “Rockin' S, this is Roy.”
“Is Ms. Sutton there? This is Sheriff Campbell.”
“Nope, she and Sara went to a horse show.”
“How about Mr. Frazier?”
The old man snorted. “Not here. Never here. Just left, said he was going to check fences, but he's probably goin' to the ponies.”
Ed hung up, grabbed his hat, and hurried down the hall. Danielle stepped out of the break room and they collided. Ed grabbed her arms to steady her, but she pulled away and gave him a haughty look, then stalked down the hall, her round butt undulating beneath the close fitting trousers.
How the hell am I going to put out that fire? He shook his head, then continued out of the building. Frank Frazier is the key to this mess and, by God, I'm going to get to the bottom of it.
Ten minutes later, he turned onto Sutton Corners Road. Up ahead, a rental van was just pulling onto the road, and he slowed down. An elderly couple stood in the front yard, talking to Jesus Hermano. Ed pulled off his hat and slouched into the seat, pulling onto the shoulder to let the van pass. Hermano was smiling and shaking hands with the old man, and the exchange appeared to be pleasant. As soon as the van cleared the driveway, Ed drove on, reaching for the radio.
“Guthrie One, calling for backup at Sutton Corners Road.”
“Unit 3, Chief. We're at the entrance to the Sutton place.”
“There's a silver Escalade, license Rambo-seven-four-Peter-Mary-eight, parked at the Borden farm. Follow him, tell me every place he goes. I'll be on channel four.”
~ ~
Frank gritted his teeth and drove down the back section road toward the winter hay barn. Fuckin' Campbell was becoming a problem. Rodriguez had suspended operations for three days now, and Frank needed to make his plan work or he would find himself at the bottom of the East Oak Landfill. The last thing he needed was playing dodge ball with the sheriff.
Celeste's tender tone curled through the phone. “I miss you, Frankie.”
He leaned back in the driver seat, staring across the vast hay fields. Why didn't he just walk away from the damned ranch? Kellie would probably be glad to see him go.
“Baby, you know how 89er weekend is, and the thing with the horses-I can't get away until tomorrow.”
“I wish you'd let go. We could be so happy together.”
Instead of his usual irritated reaction to her plea, he felt gratitude. She was right, but he'd dug himself in so deep now with the Columbians that he feared he'd never be able to extricate himself. How could he tell her about that? And what about Sara?
He squeezed his eyes against the pain in his chest. “I know.”
“I love you.”
“Me too.”
> He closed the phone and leaned his head back against the seat. Until the mess at the ranch was sorted out, he couldn't think about walking away from anything.
A cloud of red dust appeared ahead and his gut clenched. Sometimes these guys made him really nervous. He glanced at the gun on the passenger seat, then reached over and released the safety. A minute later, a dented green pickup with one red fender and no front bumper pulled up beside the pole barn. A thick-necked man stepped out into the tall grass, and hitched up pants that sagged below a large belly. He turned and stared at Frank's Jeep, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
~ ~
Ed continued past Kellie's place, automatically glancing toward the main barn. Frank's Hummer was parked at the side, and Ed slowed down. Why was Frank's vehicle there if he'd gone somewhere else? Across the fields, a cloud of red dust rose, unbroken by any breeze. He accelerated, then turned down the next section road and proceeded slowly, keeping his eye on the dust cloud. Through the brush at the side of the road, he spotted the roof of an immense pole barn. A barely-used track led into that field, and he caught a glimpse of an old Jeep parked in the tall grass. He drove past the entrance and, farther down the road, found a tractor path that ended behind a stand of trees. He parked the car and jogged across the road and into the tall weeds. A loud engine rumbled past his hiding place and he parted the brush to watch a dilapidated pickup truck turn into the lane leading to the pole barn.
Loosening his collar against the heat, he crept through the cover until he could see Frank and a dark skinned man approaching each other. He pulled out a small camera and hit the burst button.
~ ~
“Shit!” Frank leaped out of the Jeep and ran through the grass. “Hey! Don't do that out here, you idiot! Jeezus, you ever seen a wildfire?”
The man scowled. “Señor Frayjur?”
Frank nodded curtly, eyeing the unlit cigarette. “You have something for me?”
“Money first, por favor.”
Frank pulled a packet of bills from his pocket and held it out. The man grasped it and pulled, but Frank held on.
